


'Til Next We Meet

by nyaha



Category: Persona 3, Persona 4, Persona 5
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Pocket Dimension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:01:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25690000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyaha/pseuds/nyaha
Summary: Souji spends the night with the two men he loves most.Written for Rosebud Zine.
Relationships: Arisato Minato/Kurusu Akira, Arisato Minato/Kurusu Akira/Seta Souji, Arisato Minato/Seta Souji, Kurusu Akira/Seta Souji
Comments: 2
Kudos: 57





	'Til Next We Meet

“You’re here.”

Akira’s voice felt distant, an echo from a dream far away--and suddenly it was in front of him, and Souji was there. 

“We’ve been waiting for you,” said Akira. Akira’s face was so bright at the sight of him. His chest felt warm. 

He pried his eyes away from Akira to look around the café. _Café Leblanc,_ that was it, maybe--it was a dingy place, he noted, yet calm and welcoming, warm and kind. It was small, walking the line of cozy and cramped, so small that the gentle lighting and the deep, earthy smell of freshly brewed coffee enveloped him entirely. He felt removed from reality, just standing here. For Akira’s home, it was almost fitting. 

His eyes met another familiar face, sat quietly at one of the booths closer to the back. They waved to him. Souji approached and slid into the booth across from them. “Minato,” he said. “Uh, hi.”

Minato, sweet, dearest Minato, watched him intently. He always had this languid sort of look to him, and Souji could easily take it as disinterest if he wasn’t so familiar with him—if he wasn’t so taken by his eyes, by his soft skin and delicate features, by the way his lips curled into a smile as Souji spoke. Souji liked it, those watchful eyes, that illegible face, the quiet and confident way he moved. Souji liked it in Minato a lot more than he liked it in himself.

“Took you a bit,” Minato said.

“I’m sorry,” said Souji. “I’ve been restless…”

“You look like it,” said Minato. “What’s going on?”

Souji was good at hiding his feelings, too, just like Minato was. Just not from Minato. Minato’s eyes met him so, so closely. “It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s nothing.”

Minato opened his mouth to speak, but Akira interrupted him. “These coffee beans are all disorganized.”

“They’re not as attentive to detail,” Souji offered.

“It’s bothering me.” A symphony of shuffling beans rang out from behind the counter. Akira was quickly obscured by a looming stack of bean-boxes. “Just give me a moment.”

Souji glanced over some of the label names. _Koubifica. Blue Blue. AKB48._ He wasn’t sure those were actual variants.

“Is this how you woo everyone you invite over?” asked Minato. He was smiling. How Souji loved to see him smile.

“Are you feeling seduced yet?” called Akira. _Shuffle shuffle. Rattle rattle._

Akira’s playful energy loitered in the air as the wall of beans gradually shifted places. Minato watched him work; Souji watched Minato. He felt them both, felt viscerally Akira’s neat-cleaning impulse and ambient smile, Minato’s bemused gaze and extended patience. It was so much easier to feel them than to think about anything. He couldn’t think. It was just them, only them.

Akira knelt down in front of their booth, resting his forearms on the table. “Okay, sorry for the wait. What can I get for you?”

Souji couldn’t think, but he could feel, and he felt. His eyes found Akira, darling, handsome Akira, with his sharp gaze and striking lashes and debonair charm, his perfectly disheveled hair and firm, deliberate hands. Souji felt him. Souji felt him with all of his being.

Souji spoke, yet barely heard the words from his own mouth; he was transfixed on Akira's face, his gentle and knowing smile, the way his soft and kissable lips moved as he said... what?

Souji receded into himself. He could think again. Akira had already gotten up and left them. He sighed, short and nasal.

Minato was staring. He offered his hand, laid limp across the table. Souji took it. Minato’s hands are so callused, Souji thought, yet so soft. A perfect balance of firm and tender. Perfect, just like Minato. Souji intertwined their fingers.

Minato opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out. He closed it. He looked down and stroked Souji’s hand with his thumb. Once more they were quiet, the only sound between them the bubbling of brewing coffee and the prattle of the television. _Prattle, prattle._

Souji was already tired of thinking again.

* * *

At last Akira blessed them with drinks. Souji's drink was a foamy, sweet-smelling affair, and Akira had drawn him a little cat in the foam. It looked awful; he loved it. He felt like he could cry.

Souji emerged from his foam-cat reverie to watch Minato’s all-consuming substance receptacle devour his own drink. He was relentless against its bitter taste and piping hot temperature. By the time he set his cup back down, it was nearly empty. Souji mused: it was a wonder he didn't burn his throat.

Minato coughed. "Burned my throat," he said.

Souji smiled at him. There was a laugh somewhere in his throat, but it refused to come out. Minato offered his hand again and he readily accepted. Minato squeezed. _Firm and tender._

Minato spoke again, keeping his eyes fixed on their hands, lovingly enlaced. “If you can tell me,” he said, “I’d like to know what’s wrong. … If you can tell me.”

Silence hung between them. Souji’s eyes became gravely acquainted with the grain of the table. “I’m just--I'm tired,” he said at last. “That’s all. God, I'm just so tired.” He ran his hand through his hair, tugging the strands taut.

Minato understood.

Mercifully, Akira reappeared to save them from the dread of thought. He plopped into the seat besides Minato, throwing his arm around Minato’s shoulder. “At last I am here,” he said, throwing his head aside. “The beans torment me no longer. Lo, I have found my salvation!”

Minato snorted. He reached up, pulled the glasses from Akira's face and slipped them onto his own. He tugged at the fringe of hair trapped under the right lens, but it got caught in the hinges and stuck there. The glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, suspended on one side. He left it be.

Akira laughed. That distinctive, deep-throated cackle of his had a special way of grasping Souji’s heart by the throat and never relenting; he would think it _sexy_ if it didn’t come from such a dork of a man. “It's a good look on you.”

“Naturally,” said Minato. He was smiling again. Akira mushed his face into Minato’s forehead and hair, pelting him with kiss after kiss. Minato laughed. What a nice laugh it was, Souji thought—the low, soft ring of a bell, such soothing soundwaves, music to Souji’s ear. He heard it so rarely. What a precious, special thing it was.

What a precious, special thing _they_ were. Souji was well-contented just watching them; being in their presence was a blessing he cherished dearly. Minato’s hand twitched and writhed in his as Akira barraged him with kisses. Yes, he thought, he was so blessed.

Akira finally relented only when Minato shooed him away. Minato’s hand fell from Souji’s and instead got to work freeing Akira’s glasses from the clutches of his own hair. He pushed the glasses back onto Akira’s face. Akira sighed, content, resting his head against Minato’s.

Souji’s eyes wandered back to his drink. He still hadn’t taken a sip of it.

* * *

Akira had coaxed Souji to come join them, and there they sat together, Souji and Minato leaned against him as he doted on them both. He leaned in and kissed Souji gently, a ghost of his lips against his, reaching up to brush Souji's hair behind his ears. Souji's grip on Minato's hand tightened.

Akira’s hand lingered in Souji’s hair, massaging his head. Souji leaned into him, resting his head against his shoulder. Just like this, he thought, resting against Akira, Minato’s hand in his—just like this. Souji didn’t want for anything else.

“I know,” came Akira, “how you’re feeling.”

Souji felt his insides toss.

“You feel like a failure,” said Akira. “Your parents expect good grades, your confidants need you to help them, your team needs you to guide them. You’re an honor student, a hero, a _leader_ —what good are you if you can’t serve everyone? What were you ever worth?”

“Stop.” Souji’s voice was weak.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” said Akira. “You don’t have to be the hero, not now, not if you don’t want to. You just… have to be Souji.”

Souji mumbled into Akira’s shoulder, “You’re just playing ‘leader’ with _me._ ”

Akira pressed his face into Souji’s hair. He smiled and said nothing.

* * *

Time stopped so sweetly when they were together like this, swaddled in the warmth of their affection. Souji almost didn’t notice when their time was up. The café warped and swayed, giving way in and out to inky darkness, or wandering fog, or flashes of blue velvet. Minato’s grip on his hand faltered. _I’m not ready._

Reality wavered beneath Souji’s fingertips.

He spoke, just barely. “I don’t want to leave.” _I don’t want you to go._

Akira sighed—long, deep—and rubbed Souji’s shoulder. “Tomorrow,” he said. “We can make it ‘til tomorrow.”

“It’s so hard.” _It’s gotten so hard lately._

There were no words Akira could offer him, just another warm kiss to the top of his head. Minato’s fingers slipped away and he was alone again.

* * *

Souji was awake.

His curtains were drawn, but the morning light was still relentless. He stretched and rolled onto one side. He could hear Nanako downstairs, and he knew that the morning was not long for him. And yet—

And yet the warmth in his chest lingered. The lasting feeling of a gentle embrace and fingers interlaced remained with him. Yes, he thought. He was so blessed.

Tonight. He could make it ‘til tonight.


End file.
